


FC Snape

by plueschpony



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Not Canon Compliant, Snape didn't die, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plueschpony/pseuds/plueschpony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt during a forum game: <i>I would like to know, how Severus Snape would react to a Severus Snape fanclub.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	FC Snape

**Author's Note:**

> Written some time ago and crossposted on fanfiktion.de in German, but I recently started to translate/rewrite and edit some of my works in English so now I'm posting it here. Hope you enjoy it, and feel free to give feedback ;) (comments, suggestions, mistakes - it's unbetad, sorry for that)
> 
> And of course, the usual disclaimer: everything belongs to J.K. Rowling (except Billy Brown, he's mine ^^), and I'm just borrowing it for fun etc. etc.

Fires crackling softly, knives meeting the wooden tables again and again with a dull, consistent sound while cutting ingredients, a clink, whenever someone stirred their potion and the ladle hit against the cauldron’s inner wall. No-one spoke, down here in the dungeons of Hogwarts, only silently some mouthed words when reading instructions in the books – all in all a relaxing atmosphere one might think, but unfortunately that was not the case.

Professor Snape, as unbelievable as it may sound, was still (or should one say ‘again’?) the potions teacher in Hogwarts and had let himself not be deterred from continuing with said profession, neither by Voldemort himself, nor his pet. Although right in this moment, one could really ask what had provoked the man to this decision, after all his facial expression just now did in no way seem like he enjoyed teaching – but that had always been so.

Otherwise, too, there hadn’t really been any change, if Hermione thought about it. Of course she saw her teacher with other eyes, since the big battle – somehow at least. Even a big part of the student body at least possessed the background knowledge to change their opinion about the professor – Harry had screamed loud enough, when he hurled all those things about Snape at Voldemort, after he had watched the professor’s memories in the pensieve – but with Snape’s current behaviour it was really not easy. The professor was unfair, sharp-tongued and intimidating as always, his sarcastic remarks cutting, his irony hurting. No, all in all it really wasn’t easy to see anything else in him than the most hated teacher in Hogwarts. But Hermione wouldn’t be Hermione if she hadn’t at least tried.

Snape had never wanted to hear thanks for everything he had done during the war and every one of her attempts to do so, had been answered with anger and sarcasm on his part. Instead, the Gryffindor had finally decided to at least grant her teacher some concession in class. No constant, over-zealous putting up her hand, no tedious questions any more (at least not too many) and even more perfect work than before, but what did that do for her? Right, nothing. And slowly, three months after having started her seventh and last year at Hogwarts, anger began to bubble up in her and she knew, any spark would be enough now to trigger an explosion of enormous proportion.  
His constant digs at her or other Gryffindors, his arrogant, conceited expression – by Merlin’s beard, sometimes she really wanted to wring his neck!

And then there was her desk neighbour, of course. The brown-haired witch gave a quiet sigh. It seemed as if there was a Neville Longbottom in every year – this one under the name of Billy Brown – and thus her classes where once again filled with brewing her own potions and trying, as much as it was possible, to prevent Billy from exploding his cauldrons. Not a very easy task and constantly accompanied by remarks on the part of Snape. Like now.  
At the time, Hermione had – for once – not glanced at Billy, but the professor had done so. Or rather, he had not only glanced over, but instead stood closely next to her house mate, eyes locked on his potion in mocking.

“Miss Granger”, he intoned softly – treacherously so – and more than audible despite his whispering. “I was nearly _certain_ , your experiences with Longbottom had taught you something – if only to give your advice to him as unnoticeable as possible – so how, I must ask, did **that** manage to happen?”  
He had spoken the words quietly, his voice like velvet. Sheer velvet, covering the sharp, cutting edge of a knife and a single, minute movement would be enough for said knife to cut through the velvet, breaking fully to the surface in the process. He hadn’t even touched Billy, his presence alone was enough to freeze every movement of the small, slightly pudgy boy, so that he in fact, wasn’t even able to corrupt that – that being his very much ruined and explosive potion – even further. Or salvage it, for that matter, as unlikely as that might have been. 

Billy was standing ramrod straight, Hermione shaking all over. Shaking with repressed anger and it was only with severe self-control that she managed to put down the knife, which she had up until just now used to cut her ingredients, otherwise she would have plunged it straight into that… bastard’s chest. But Snape, it seemed, was not finished with her.

“Or maybe it is simply that the lion’s little know-it-all, contrary to what everyone believes, does _not_ know everything?!”  
And that sentence was finally the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Cheeks red with rage and an angry spark in her eyes, Hermione stared at her teacher. Her hair seemed to stand around her head like a halo, very much living up to the name lion’s mane at the moment and in her words there was no more room for eloquence, subtlety or sarcasm, only pure fury.

“No, even ‘the lion’s little know-it-all’ does not know _everything_ ”, she yelled, mimicking his words contemptuously. “And even if I had helped, what good would it have done me except another petty remark from you and loss of points for Gryffindor? I can do whatever, here in class, and still everything I do seems to be a reason for you to pick at me, you bloody-…”

At this point, Hermione stopped herself. Her voice had – although not truly screaming like she knew she was able to, but it was a near thing – resonated loudly in the now dead silent class room and for a moment the brown-haired witch had reveled in the fact that she could just hurl all her fury and rage towards her professor, but her thinking had soon caught up with her tongue. ‘Bastard’ she had wanted to say, before her brain had put a stop to her mouth. And only now did she fully comprehend, what she had just done and for a split second fear of her action’s consequences swept over her like a wave, but as soon as that wave had passed and left Hermione drenched in icy water, she had grabbed her bag and bolted towards the classroom’s door. Not a second longer she would stay in the same room as her professor, too severe either her further actions or his reaction to the just transpired.

It took exactly thirteen seconds for Hermione, to reach the door, just as long as it took Severus Snape to get over his shock about the Gryffindor’s outburst. His voice at her back made her stop, hand hovering only millimeters above the door handle.

“And, pray tell, what exactly do you think you are going to do now, Miss Granger?”

So quiet and still so very threatening. Hermione cringed, then turned, her thoughts suddenly free of anxiety and the fears and worries about the consequences of her actions and she gifted her teacher with a mocking smile.

“Why, to start a Professor Severus Snape Fan Club, of course!”

And then the door slammed shut behind her. Loud.

***

For a moment a silence ruled in this room in the dungeons of Hogwarts. A silence that was almost touchable. A deadly silence. Then his words. Loud. Commanding. Cutting.  
“Clean up and then out with all of you. Homework should be obvious!”

***

Ginny Weasley needed only ten minutes to sprint from the dungeons up to Gryffindor tower. Only ten minutes in which the happenings that had just transpired kept replaying themselves in her head over and over again, like a record, one had put on permanent repeat. Ten minutes, in which every sensible thought seemed to disappear from her mind even though everything seemed to go in circles and upside down in her head.

Then she was through the portrait hole and her eyes found Hermione’s face, snow-white, the witch obviously more than shocked about her own behaviour.

“Wha-… what did he say?”, she croaked, fearing and anticipating the answer at the same time, and now Ginny couldn’t stop the big grin from spreading on her face any longer. Her white teeth stood in sharp contrast to dark lips and a, from exertion, red-flushed face.

“He demands green as black as colours.”

“What?”  
Hermione’s voice was weak, only a hint, and on the brink of breaking.

“He demands green and black as the club’s colours, does not want Ron as a member under any circumstances and takes 30 points from you for unnecessary slamming of doors and leaving his class unauthorized and too early!”

She couldn’t help it, she had to laugh. Laugh because of the shock that was all too evident on Hermione’s face, laugh because of her memories of the potions master down in the dungeons, where he – after all the others had fled the room – had given her those words for Hermione, laugh because she remembered the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that had meant something between mockery and amusement.

And Hermione? Hermione sank back on one of the big armchairs, face buried in her hands, her voice a manifestation of deepest incredulity and exasperation.

“Bonkers… he’s driving me totally bonkers…”


End file.
